


Sunday School

by gollymissmolly



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2363786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gollymissmolly/pseuds/gollymissmolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly and Michael have a talk about choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday School

Molly came storming out of the east annex of Saint Mary of the Angels with a scowl worthy of the leader of a biker gang set on her face.  She’d forgotten to hold her brother’s hand in her rage, and made a noise of disapproval before turning back to grab Daniel by the wrist and pulled him along beside her, despite his interest in a particularly muddy pair of shrubs. Daniel whined his displeasure at being so bossed around by his big sister, but went along with her all the same.

They made a pair, the eldest Carpenter children.  Molly’s blonde hair was half falling out of the elegant braid her mother had pulled it back into before Mass, and it was a minor miracle that she hadn’t managed to get her sky blue dress caked in mud, marker, or otherwise damaged past repair.  Her angry six-year-old scowl was only further complimented by her little brother’s equally sour expression as he let his sister tug him along, clumsy five-year-old hands losing hold of the leaf he’d been examining.  Unlike his sister, he  _did_  wear a few battle scars from Sunday school, though most of the marker had ended up on his hands and cheeks instead of his khakis, white dress shirt or the little sweater vest he wore over it.

They might have been adorable, if they hadn’t been so royally  _pissed off_.

"Here comes trouble." Charity said, trying not to grin as she passed the newest addition— three-month-old Alicia— to Father Forthill, who cooed to her and dutifully wiped a spit bubble off of her cheek with the rag Charity settled on his shoulder.  

Matthew, only two and not yet ready to be away from his parents for the entirety of Sunday Mass, yawned and dropped his dark head onto his father’s shoulder.  He’d managed to sleep through most of the service this week, and was only just starting to wake up again.

Juggling children was becoming an Olympic sport in the Carpenter house, and once Charity’s arms were free of Alicia, who fussed but eventually settled for staring stonily up at Father Forthill, she took Matthew from Michael, freeing him up to deal with the tiny thunderstorms that had come raging out of Sunday School.

"Molly, be gentle with your brother." He chided, but not without sympathy, and moved over to the two children before crouching in front of them.  Clearly, something had her upset and it was fairly common for six year olds to take their frustration out on their younger siblings— but that didn’t mean it needed to be encouraged. 

Molly’s scowl turned into a pout as she glanced over at the little lesion she had been made responsible for, but reluctantly she let go of his wrist, scraping the heel of her patent leather shoe on the gravel walkway inside the courtyard of the old church.  ”Sorry, Daniel.” She muttered, only half-sincerely, but it seemed good enough for Daniel, who sniffed his indignation at having his personage violated in such a barbaric manner, and promptly shoved his finger up his nose.

Michael managed not to laugh, but only just barely, and gave Daniel’s chubby baby-arm a little tug to pull his finger back out of his nose.  ”Why don’t you go play with Matthew, son?  We’ll be going home soon.”

"I’ma show him my leaf!" Daniel shouted with sudden enthusiasm and started retracing his steps to relocate the handful of leaves he’d dropped.

Left alone with her father, Molly didn’t pick her head up.  She’d gotten in trouble— and it was all  _Daniel’s_  fault anyway.

"What’s bothering you, Molly?" Michael asked, setting one hand lightly on her shoulder.  When she was a newborn, he could have easily held her in one hand, and even now, though she was growing up much too quickly for her mother’s liking, he could still cover nearly her whole head with one of his large hands.

"Sister Abigail said I was lying and lying is a sin."

"Did she?   _Were_  you lying?”

“ _No._ " She whined adamantly, stomping one foot in frustration.  

"Okay." He said, drawing her closer and dropping one knee to the ground so that she stood with her back to the rest of the family and they could talk— just the two of them.

Father Forthill, taking note of the situation, chuckled, “I don’t ever know what he says to her, but I’ve never seen a child go from stormy to sunshine as Molly does when her father talks to her.”

Charity, putting Matthew down on his own feet despite his whining, looked towards her husband and daughter, and smiled.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Michael asked again, and Molly shifted uncomfortably under his hand.

"We were talking about jobs today, and how everyone has their job in the Church, like the nuns and priests and every ordinary people help out and everyone works together like a big team and she was asking everyone’s families could do to help the Church and I said my daddy is a knight and he’s got one of the Holy Swords and he fights dragons and stuff and bad guys and she said that there wasn’t anything as dragons and that fibbing isn’t good and I told her I wasn’t fibbing and that it’s the  _truth_ ,” the last part was emphasized as if  _everyone_  clearly should have known that of course there weren’t any dragons  _anymore_ — not after Michael Carpenter had been on the case, “and then she said maybe I was lying and lying’s a sin.”  She finished with a resolute scowl, though she’d turned her focus down to her feet again.

Despite the run-on sentence, Michael stayed quiet and listened to his daughter.  It was a delicate situation.  He certainly didn’t want her to lie, or to learn that lying was okay, but there were people who wouldn’t understand, or wouldn’t believe that she was telling the truth if she spoke about her father’s Calling.  And that was okay too— albeit difficult for a six-year-old to grasp.  

He didn’t sugar coat things for her, though.  Life would be full of difficult situations, and it was his responsibility to make sure that she had the tools to negotiate them to the best of her ability. 

"You did the right thing, Molly." He said, and Molly lifted her head a little at his quiet voice, "I’m proud of you for telling the truth. Sometimes people won’t believe you when you tell them the truth, though.  And that’s not your fault.  Your job is to speak the truth.  Whether people choose to believe it or not is up to them.  And maybe they will, when they’re ready, but maybe they never will— and that’s okay too." 

"But  _Daddy_ , if it’s the  _truth_  then they have to believe it.” 

That made him chuckle, and Michael gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze, “That would be nice, but it’s not how choice works, I’m afraid.  People make choices every day— some of them good, some of them bad— you don’t get to decide for them, as much as you might want to.  Remember, Molly, we’re all part of His plan- the choices we make aren’t anything new to Him.  Even if they’re bad choices, He still has a plan for all of us, and sometimes He uses bad choices to show us the good ones in front of us.  He knows you, He knows your value.   _’ For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.’  _Do you understand, Molly?”

Molly heaved a heavy sigh, shoving fine blonde hairs out of her face with a fist.  ”Is this like the one about the hair and the birds?  It’s a… parallelable.”

Michael grinned, “A parable.  And yes- it’s like the one with the hair and the birds, ‘ _Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.’ “_

It took her a moment to digest all this information, the gears behind her blue eyes turning over and over, but she gave a final, definitive nod.  ”Okay, Daddy.” 

"Okay."  He said, smiling and took his hand off her shoulder to hold it out, "Can I have a hug?"

She nodded again, and lunged forward into her father’s arms.  He gave her a quick squeeze and kissed the top of her head whispering, just to her, “I’m very proud of you, Molly.  I love you.”

"I love you too Daddy." She said quietly before squirming out of his embrace.  "Can I go play now?" 

"Sure.  Try to keep out of the mud, though, alright?"

"Okay, Daddy.  Okay."


End file.
